


My Dryad Hath Her Hiding Place

by notreallycreative



Series: Dream Big Or Wake Up [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi, Murphy's cameo is my favorite part of this ok, dryad!Clarke, witch!Raven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 19:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4492053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notreallycreative/pseuds/notreallycreative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke comes to live with Raven to get some seriously needed peace and ends up assembling a Dealing With Stupid Shit Squad with Bellamy Blake instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Dryad Hath Her Hiding Place

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a poem "The Dryad" by Richard Le Gallienne.

 

She’s almost twenty two and has no place to go.

Well, this isn’t _exactly_ true, at least in the eyes of people around her. She might not have an apartment at the moment, but so what? She just graduated from college. And it’s not like Clarke isn’t earning enough money to rent anything.

But this isn’t about any of that human business, so she doesn’t exactly expect people to be understanding.

They pity her, of course, after what happened with Lexa, and she hates them all for it. She hates the looks her professors give her, the seventy two calls from her mother that she got last week, Monroe saying _don’t worry, you can move away from there now_. Pity sucks.

So when Raven calls inviting her to stay at her new house for a while, it takes Clarke less than a second to say yes.

Raven Reyes is one of those people who just seems to fit right in Clarke’s life, no matter how close they get. She always knows what to say and where to set the limits, so it’s no wonder Lexa’s death isn’t discussed. What they do discuss is how quickly Clarke can move in.

Very, as it turns out.

Her friend’s home is away from any others, small, with a single storey and a porch in the front. There is a lake right next to it, no more than twelve feet away. It smells like sweet water and sunlight. Mosquitoes are probably in love with this place. As she gets out of her old truck, Clarke notices Raven sitting on the steps to the house, carving something on her cane. There is an open book on the ground in front of the woman; even from afar, she can recognize the standard spell book.

She’s going to judge Raven’s carelessness some other time.

(Honestly, though. Anyone could’ve just visited, or even gotten lost. They probably would’ve caught her performing a spell. This is so irresponsible.)

But now, she’s being embraced by her best friend and no one is asking how she’s dealing with “everything”, or that _the place you and Lexa picked for your home was so nice, it’s such a shame she got cut, really_. Raven understands.

“Come on,” she tugs Clarke towards the house, picking up the spell book along the way. “I’ll make you tea, Reyes style.”

They walk into a tiny hall that leads them to a room filled with dilapidated furniture, herbs and metal scraps. It’s so much like Raven and home that Clarke wants to cry.

“I think I might stay here for a while, if you don’t mind,” she says, not thinking, and her friend finally looks at her with visible concern. Shit.

“You… Clarke, you’re almost twenty two. Sure you have enough time?”

No. No, she isn’t sure. No, she doesn’t know how to find herself a new place, with less painful memories. No, she does not have a single idea as to what last place would she want to visit before her time is up. Only, none of those things are what she is capable of saying out loud.

“I’ll manage,” Clarke says instead. Raven hears her anyway. “It’s still a whole year to make a decision. That’s a lot. You can plant a thousand trees in a year, especially if you’re me.”

Sure. Just not _that_ tree. This one is kind of a big deal and she doesn’t even know what species she needs yet. But Raven is perfect, so she doesn’t comment on that, only starts making more tea. A faint smell of several different herbs reaches Clarke’s nostrils, as she sits down on one of the white wooden chairs gathered around the table. Looking down, she notices its legs are uneven, one of them supported with yet another spell book.

It’s fucking ridiculous how Raven Reyes is one of the most amazing (in Clarke’s opinion, but so what) witches in the world, as well as a genius mechanic, but still remains incapable of fixing something as simple as a chair.

Or too lazy. It might be that.

“You know, if you want I can introduce you to my neighbours,” Raven offers, pouring them both tea. “There are a couple of pretty chill werewolves around and I already told the spirit of the lake that you’re coming, she’s really excited to meet you. We don’t get a lot of visitors, so most days the poor girl gets too bored to function.”

“I’m not really great company,” Clarke notes. “She might be disappointed.”

As it turns out, though, Maya is a sweet girl, if a little shy. After they start talking, she finally emerges from the lake to sit on the shore, but still keeps her legs in the water.

It’s distracting. Clarke’s met many dryads in her life, and a couple of naiads too, but none of them seemed this bound to their bodies. Sure, they could never truly leave them, not for long, but she’s known dryads who would go as far as fifty miles away from their trees and still feel comfortable about it. Maya, however, appears to have an almost impossibly close relationship with her lake.

She cannot imagine what would happen if she was this connected to her tree.

“I just love it a lot,” the girl explains at one point. “The outside world, it’s always seems so ugly. I hated not having a body, not being connected to the life around me. It felt so lonely. Now, I have Raven and there is a lovely family of otters by the other shore, they always have a spare seat at their table for me. Mrs. Otter even made me a chair in proper size. Sweet, don’t you think?”

“Sure,” Clarke supplies, not really knowing what to say. Her entire experience with lake fauna consists of a very heated squabble with a bitchy swan over who gets to wear a pink hat abandoned on a bench by some lady. She was ten and managed to achieve a crushing defeat.

Raven smirks at them from above her tea.

“Clarke wants to live here now,” she informs Maya, taking a sip. Her bare feet tap the grass under them. She looks happy to announce it, thank the Bodhi. “With me, in the house. I’ll have to add a room, most like.”

Maya stares at Clarke, shocked.

“Here? But, aren’t you already almost twenty two? You need time to settle!”

She shrugs. Of course she does, or else she’ll become one of those sad, lonely dryads who somehow did not manage to grow a tree in time and now are practically shadows of themselves. She’s not aiming for that of course. But the idea of being bound to one place forever doesn’t seem particularly promising either.

“I’ll figure it out.”

“You could set up camp here,” supplies Maya warily, as if not exactly sure of her own words. “It’s a great place and very few of those trees have their own spirits, so we could really use some. Plus, the people who live on the other side of the lake are decent.”

“They’re kind of idiots, actually,” corrects her Raven. “Only Maya won’t say that coz she’s got a crush on one of them. But that’s beside the point.”

That night, for the first time in a month, Clarke falls asleep easily, holding Raven’s hand and listening to the sounds coming from a party frogs are throwing on the opposite shore.

It’s nice.

*

He wants to pretend that Ark is going to be their new start, but both of them know it’s bullshit.

It’s just a place for O to die as peacefully as possible.

Neither of them says it out loud, of course. Instead they desperately try to fill their silences with meaningless chatter they pretend to care about. He hates it with passion.

Miller is the one to recommend Ark. He’s been a sheriff in the town for the last two years, ever since he decided a long distance relationship with his boyfriend is not his favourite option.

“It’s a decent town,” he tells Bellamy. “Surprisingly not racist, taking how it’s in the south and has only a couple of thousands citizens. Decent.”

That’s the highest praise Bellamy has ever heard Miller utter about anything that isn’t Monty Green, and he really wants the best for O, so two weeks later they pack their things and head for Ark, North Carolina. He knows he’ll probably just return to Jacksonville after, but the after part is not something he willing to focus on. This is for Octavia.

She’s been in great mood ever since they left Florida, ignoring his pleas to take her feet down and making him listen to the worst playlists he’s ever heard. She grins with all of her teeth, pretending to love the horrible songs, just to piss him off.

It’s kind of great.

Of course they get lost right before reaching their destination. Late in the evening.

They’re supposed to find a house by the lake where Miller and Monty live with their roommate Jasper, but instead, Bellamy manages to end up on the lake’s other side. And that other side also has a house, so it’s really not his fault that he doesn’t even realize he’s made a mistake before they’ve parked and gotten out of the car.

As he walks towards the house, Bellamy notices a woman sitting on the steps leading to it. He wasn’t told of any female roommates, but it still doesn’t raise any suspicions. Who knows. Maybe she’s Jasper’s girlfriend or something.

She’s wearing an old, loose sweater and holding tea and there is a book in her lap. It’s like he’s in a photo from one of those hipster blogs from 2012 Roma loved so much.

“We’re closed for today,” she tells him without looking up. “Come back another day. Or never. Raven’s kind of swamped.”

“I’m looking for Monty Green’s house, actually,” he explains. “Do you know him? Or Nathan Miller.”

That finally makes her spare him a glance. She shuts the book loudly, hiding it behind her.

Something about that motion makes him want to reach for it, but he doesn’t, instead taking a closer look at the girl.

She can’t be older than twenty three, maybe even less, though something about her face seems tired, almost worn out. There’s a dimple in her chin and a mole over the corner of her mouth and she seems almost like one of those people who are so ridiculously perfect-looking, they get put on billboards with close to no Photoshop.

He really is in a hipster photography blog.

“That’s on the other side of the lake,” she explains. There is a note in her voice that reminds him of the times he heard his mother deal with tiresome clients in the hotels she cleaned. “The big house brightly lit. Closer to the main street.”

Of course. Of the two houses, he had to stumble into the one away from any human roads, tiny and hidden between the forest and the lake. Also, the wrong one.

O joins him in that moment, glancing at the woman curiously.

“I’m Octavia,” she introduces herself. “This is my brother, Bellamy. Do you really live so far from civilization?” she asks, disbelief in her voice. “Can you even get proper Internet access around here?”

Naturally, it is his sister that makes her smile and sit straighter. (Leading Bellamy to believe that ‘straighter’ is most likely not the right word, but.)

“We do, actually. And even if that weren’t the case, Raven is amazing enough to fix anything. A simple case of Wi-Fi wouldn’t be a challenge even if she had only half of her brains.”

(Yep. Definitely not the right word. But at least she won’t be hitting on his sister.)

(Well, he’s about 86 percent sure she won’t.)

“I’m Clarke,” she supplies, putting her tea on the last step and standing up to shake their hands. “Monty mentioned you’re coming. It’s actually kind of nice: Raven invited me to live with her about a month ago and everyone’s been treating me like a new kid in school ever since. I’ve been waiting to do that to someone in return.”

She turns to the lake, which is situated right next to the house, and points towards a building on the opposite shore.

“It’s not that hard to find if you keep to the main road,” Clarke promises. “You must’ve gotten off too early, but if you go back the way you came until some asphalt appears and then follow that again, it should be fine. Knowing Jasper, he’s probably put a giant neon sign telling you where to turn.”

She goes back to sitting on the stairs and drinking her tea, but doesn’t reach for her book. Bellamy has a weird feeling she’s waiting for them to leave to do so.

“It’s probably just something embarrassing or really bad or both,” Octavia decides, shrugging, when they’re driving back to the main road. “Like Fifty Shades of Grey, or a book report on Greek mythology.”

Bellamy glares at her.

“I do not appreciate you making fun of my line of work, you know.”

“Not nearly as much as you should, yes.”

“And besides, that’s definitely not it. She only hid it after I told her I’m not one of Raven’s clients. That _is_ weird, you have to admit.”

O shrugs. It’s pretty obvious that she really doesn’t care.

“Maybe she thought you were just gonna leave at first? I don’t know, Bell, why do you always ask those unnecessary questions?”

“Maybe because the last time I did, I found out you got arrested for drinking seven shots of pure vodka at the age of sixteen, right in front of a cop?”

That shuts her up. Almost.

“It was two weeks before my birthday,” she murmurs, offended.

They continue to bicker for the rest of their journey, which is mercifully short. Clarke’s directions were clear enough, they would’ve made it even without the ridiculous sign someone has indeed hung on a tree next to their turn.

“She was pretty,” Octavia notes, as he parks their truck next to Miller’s ancient Sedan. “Clarke. Really nice curves. And hair. I mean, that’s not really my type, but you should definitely ask her out. You always go for thin brunettes with no tits and it ends like shit, this could be a good change.”

“Your logic is escaping me,” he admits, getting out of the car. “And I’m pretty sure she mentioned her girlfriend at least three times. In a two minute long conversation. Are you suggesting I break up a serious living-together relationship simply to get myself a girlfriend with bigger boobs?”

O purses her lips, considering his words.

“Five bucks says Clarke and Raven are not a couple,” she proposes. He wants to laugh it off, tell her it’s stupid, but there is a glint in her eyes that she gets only when seriously excited about something and… well, there is a reason they’re here.

“Fine,” he says, shaking her hand. “But you’re gonna lose so bad.”

Monty welcomes them by himself.

“Nate got held up at work,” he explains hastily, grabbing two boxes from Octavia’s arms and carrying them towards the house. “And I sent Jasper to take down that sign as soon as we saw you arrive, so that my boyfriend doesn’t have to arrest us, so he should be back in half an hour. Honestly though, we kind of expected you to show up sooner.”

“Wasn’t possible,” O says immediately. “My brother had to get off the road to meet his future misis.”

Bellamy grimaces. She could’ve at least kept to a girlfriend. Monty throws him a curious look.

“I see you’ve met Raven,” he guesses with a smirk that does not look innocent at all. “Sorry man, I’m quite sure she’d eat you for breakfast and shit out before lunch. Better don’t even try.”

“Not Raven,” Octavia corrects, visibly pleased with how the talk is going. “Clarke. You know. Blond hair, medium height, looks about as serious as if she were about to perform a heart surgery. That kind of shit.”

Monty’s face falls slightly, almost causing Bellamy to get invested in the conversation he’s witnessing. Something is definitely up.

“I don’t think Clarke is a good idea either,” their friend decides, putting the boxes on the floor next to their rooms. But he doesn’t offer any other info and the subject soon changes to ‘does the lake have a decent beach’ and ‘I heard there are wolves in the forests around, is that true’.

There are some wolves in the forest and the lake does indeed have a beach that Monty, Miller and Jasper raid daily.

“Jasper says he once saw a girl in the reed,” Monty reveals, smirking, as his friend emerges from the hall, carrying the sign. “We believe his poor thirsty self, of course. Just like we did when he insisted that he’s never smoked anything ever.”

The boy ignores his words in a semi-dignified huff. He puts the sign on the floor and heads for the fridge, getting himself a beer.

“I did not fucking laugh when you insisted these woods have werewolves,” he mumbles, chugging it down.

Monty’s ears turn red and he doesn’t comment. Bellamy would’ve marked his friends off as weirdos after this day, but they’ve kind of been in that category for ages.

Fucking weirdos.

He missed them.

*

Two days after their arrival, Octavia Blake comes to their house on a bike that would make Raven wolf-whistle if she were there. But she isn’t, so Clarke is the one to receive her instead.

“I haven’t told my brother I bought it yet,” the girl explains, slightly out of breath. “He’s going to freak out, but maybe not so much if your girlfriend checks it out first. There might be something wrong with the breaks. Might.”

Clarke takes a closer look at her.

Octavia is certainly very attractive, almost overwhelmingly so, and carries herself like she knows it. But that is not something one would need a second glance to notice. What catches her eye is the unnatural paleness and exhaustion she overlooked earlier, as well as the aura invisible to a human.

“Raven and I are just friends,” she says finally. “Just… really close friends. Who live together. And sometimes have sex –I’m sorry.” She’s rambling now, made nervous by the sudden realization. Thankfully, the girl doesn’t seem to mind.

“I knew it,” she grins, showing off her perfect teeth. “Well, not the sex part, but my idiot brother said that you must be dating because you kept talking about Raven as if she shat rainbows or something. It’s like, can’t girls platonically adore each other, am I right? It’s so stupid.”

“Yeah,” Clarke agrees, grinning. Finally someone who gets it. Even if she is pretty sure she’s always been a bit in love with Raven Reyes on _some_ level. But that’s just how the world works.

Octavia leaves the bike on their driveway without asking if that’s okay. Clarke turns towards the lake to exchange a look with Maya.

“So you noticed too,” the naiad concludes gravely, resting her chin on the shore. “She smells like dying, now even more so than the first time. I heard Monty and Nathan talk. That’s why they’re here, the Blakes. So she can die in peace.”

Clarke thinks of her father, dying alone, away from her, of Lexa falling on the ground out of nowhere, blood spilling from her mouth, because some shithead decided her tree was his to crush his car into. She thinks of Costia, whose beautiful birch withered within a week, poisoned. Of Wells who never woke up, after.

She would do anything to give any of them a peaceful death.

“Must be a good brother,” she decides, watching Octavia’s lean form disappear between the trees.

Clarke’s phone goes off then and she picks up, only partially paying attention to what Raven is saying. Something about Lincoln and dinner and an extra seat.

“Are you even listening to me?” her friend asks, her voice raised slightly in annoyance. “I’ve been working nonstop for ten hours, woman, there better be a goddamn dinner on the table when I come home. You can have it delivered or whatever, just make it happen. I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Sure.”

In twenty, there is still no food on the table, but Raven seems to have stopped caring about such trivialities. Instead, she’s pacing in front of their house, hands balled into fists, her movements jerky and sharp. Clarke can hear her mumble some curses under her breath; she’s really hoping they aren’t actual spells. She turns to glare at Lincoln.

“What the hell were you thinking?” she asks, frowning. Raven’s humour tends to be contagious. “Weren’t you supposed to be the responsible adult around here? This,” she points to Octavia sleeping in the armchair on the porch, trying to ignore the shakiness of her arm, “is some serious bullshit, you do realize that, yes? What if she dies, have you thought of that? Has _she_? Did you even inform her of that possibility? You can’t just bite people and expect that not to have any consequences, Lincoln!”

It’s not that she has anything against werewolves – she doesn’t, really. They tend to be just the right shade of crazy and certainly a lot more fun than vampires, who you can never even take out, because they start getting paranoid about garlic. Of course she doesn’t blame the whole fucking species for what happened with Wells. So, yeah. Werewolves are great. And Lincoln especially was well on his way to becoming one of her favourite people in general. They met soon after her arrival and have been spending shitloads of time getting excited about fonts, logos and Odilon Redon together. It’s been nice.

But this shit, this might just be too much for their freshly baked friendship to handle.

“Actually,” interjects Maya from the lake, “I am not so sure his decision was the worst one. You know. Under the circumstances.”

Raven throws her a glare and the nymph sinks into the water until only her eyes and the top of her head are sticking out.

“Unacceptable,” the witch seethes. “ _Unacceptable._ ”

Clarke glances at Octavia. She has so far refused to get closer, not willing to trigger another nightmare, but someone needs to check what’s going on and without Nyko there is only one trained healer around.

The girl is still asleep. Her fever has gone down slightly, leaving behind colour she once lacked. The bite on her forearm appears small, suspiciously so. Clarke mentions for Lincoln to get closer.

„Am I imagining things, or is this too small for your teeth?”

The relieved look he gives her is enough of an answer.

“I hope you’re ready to raise another cub,” she murmurs, getting up and reaching for Raven to calm her down. And to calm herself down, too. “She’ll live which means we will have to inform her brother, and as soon as it’s possible too. And also report her to the headquarters, bring in an official to register her as a werewolf... I know this was stupid as fuck, but why did we not think of it earlier?”

At Raven’s incredulous look, she rushes to explain.

“She was dying. No more than three months left. Probably less.”

“Are you saying you agree with Lincoln?”

She shrugs. It’s easy, pretending she doesn’t care, at least once she convinces herself.

“That kind of depends. Did she know what were the consequences?”

The werewolf nods, glancing at Octavia.

“I told her she might die. She said that’s still better odds than what she had without being bitten.”

Clarke takes Raven’s hand, feeling the fight escape her friend. It’s quiet for a moment, the four of them staring at the sleeping girl. Finally, Clarke nods to herself.

“I’ll go get the brother. Raven, I need you to stay with her, make sure she doesn’t turn prematurely. Lincoln, get out of here. We can’t have the responsible person around when we get the other Blake, he’d murder the fuck out of you. Maya,” she turns to the naiad, who’s watching the scene with wide eyes, “go to the other house and get Monty, Miller and Jasper occupied. I don’t need all of them to tag along.”

She moves quickly, grabbing herself a knife, just in case, and jumping into her truck before any of them moves.

The road is empty and dark, not the best environment for calming down, but it will have to do. She can’t freak out, not now, not when there is finally something she can help with, at least partially.

She hasn’t felt needed in a while. It’s almost exciting to have that responsibility on her, even if it’s only for a moment.

*

Bellamy stares at that woman, Clarke, not believing a single word she says.

“You told me she’s fine,” he growls, reaching to lift his sister up. His arms are shaking and he might just drop her. “What did you do? This isn’t...”

It can’t be the sickness leaving her unconscious. That would mean her time is far more limited than it was said to be. No, it had to be them.

Raven, the girlfriend, checks on O’s pulse, glancing at her watch.

“It’s already slowing down,” she announces, a slight tone of surprise in her voice. “That’s good. Means she adapts easily.”

“Adapts easily to what?” Bellamy asks, panic and annoyance both rising at the words. “What the actual fuck are you talking about?”

Clarke rushes to Raven’s side, putting a comforting hand on his arm.

“Bellamy, listen to me.” Her eyes are pleading, as if helpless, but he has a feeling she’s anything but. “This, what happened, this is great. We were concerned too at first, when we found out, but really, it is. Octavia will be fine, do you hear me? Fine. As in, not just awake. I mean she’s not dying anymore.”

That finally makes him stop for a second.

“She’s not dying,” he repeats, feeling very dumb for some reason. “Princess, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He leaves, Octavia in his arms, ignoring Raven waving her cane and yelling after him “Don’t you talk to my Clarke like that, you ignorant mierda!” and trying very hard not to think of the woman’s words, not to believe them. He doesn’t need their false hope. They’re just some crazy fuck ups, nothing more. Probably got high and decided they can heal O.

It’s not fucking funny.

He puts his sister in her bed once they get home and goes to find Miller.

“Your neighbours are fucking crazy,” he tells him, watching Nathan take out five beers from the fridge. “They kidnapped O, do you hear me? And I’m pretty sure they sedated her.”

He’s been weirdly calm so far. But that won’t last.

Miller closes the fridge, throwing him a beer and a long look.

“We know. And they didn’t sedate or kidnap her.”

Without another word of explanation, he walks out through the back door, which leads to the beach. Bellamy follows him, baffled.

“How do you even know? Miller, they –“ he stops abruptly at the sight in front of him.

Jasper and Monty are sitting on a large log, both slightly confused, but that is not what catches his eye. What does is a girl between them, completely naked.

She’s young, maybe two or three years older than O, and ridiculously pale. Her feet are dirty with mud and grass and she’s got thick black hair that appear to be wet, falling over her shoulder blades. The boys brought her a towel, but she must have forgotten about it, as the thing lays crumpled beside her.

“Oh,” she raises her eyebrows when seeing him, as if he were the anomaly. “Hello. We weren’t expecting you to come back so soon.”

Monty coughs awkwardly.

“Bellamy, meet Maya. She’s uh, a dryad of the lake?”

“Naiad,” the girl corrects him courtly. “Dryads are the ones bound to their trees. Like Clarke.”

“Of course.”

Maya stands up, twisting her fingers in a nervous gesture.

“I realize that what happened wasn’t done in the best taste. But you must understand that Lincoln would have never offered to bite your sister had he not sensed her dying. We could both feel it too, Clarke and I. A nymph well connected to her environment can recognize things like that even better than a werewolf does. Octavia knew the consequences and she still decided to go through with it. You should be grateful.”

Miller offers her a beer and she accepts, uncapping it with her teeth. Jasper stares at the nymph as if she were the sun.

“I’ll let you process everything,” she tells him graciously, taking a step towards the lake. “But your sister is going to live so... a thank you can do. And probably a sorry, to the girls back home, if I’m not mistaken.” She takes a sip from her bottle and puts it on the sand before walking into the water. He hears her sigh with relief.

“Oh,” she turns back one more time, “And if my calculations are right, your sister should wake up for the full moon tomorrow. Keep an eye on her then. And make sure she doesn’t ruin the house.”

After that, she disappears under the surface, leaving them all with their jaws hanging open.

It is nothing, however, compared to the next night, when O storms out of the house through the window on the first floor and runs off into the woods as if nothing’s happened, even though her left leg gets twisted during the fall in a sickening way.

Bellamy runs after her, but can’t keep up and eventually loses the sight of his little sister. After that, there is only one place to go.

When he gets close to Clarke and Raven’s house, he notices a large wolf with dark brown fur sitting on the porch. The animal sends him a look that is not at all friendly. Bellamy slows down.

“Are you Lincoln?” he asks, feeling more and more stupid by the second. He’s talking to a wolf. He’s assuming that werewolves exist and can understand what he says to them. This is fucking insane.

“Of course I’m not Lincoln,” says the wolf, because yes, the world has indeed gone mad. “He just bit a human. That is not a responsibility that allows sitting down during full moon. My name is Anya.” At that, she turns her snout the other way, obviously done with the conversation. He wonders for a second if she’ll attack him if he walks to the door, but then he does and nothing happens, so apparently no.

Clarke opens the door before he can knock and motions for him to come inside, not at all surprised. The living room is surprisingly cosy, its walls, floor and most furniture painted white, with plenty of herbs hanging from the ceilings. There is a peculiar construction in the corner that looks like a half-finished robot. It smells of metal, fresh paint and all those goddamn dry plants.

“Octavia isn’t here,” Raven tells him, appearing from the kitchen, a mortar in her left hand, cane in the right. “But don’t worry, Lincoln already went to get her. They should be back in a couple of hours, maybe less if more clouds appear. Did the frogs supplied the arrow arum they promised?” The last question is directed at Clarke, who points her towards a bunch of leafs on the coffee table.

“They kept saying that you don’t pay them nearly enough for their troubles.”

“Fucking putas,” mumbles Raven, grabbing the leafs and retreating to the kitchen. “Next time tell them they should be grateful anyone puts up with their bullshit.”

She leaves them alone, Clarke grabbing a piece of coal and going back to the sketch she must’ve been working on before he appeared, and Bellamy wondering how is any of this not a dream.

“Does... does she mean actual frogs?”

The girl gives him an unimpressed look.

“Obviously. What other frogs are there?”

There have been a lot of things in his life lately that are apparently “obvious”, even though he wouldn’t call them that in a million years.

Bellamy wants to ask, more than anything, he has to know, but the words won’t leave his mouth.

He’s scared.

But before he can do anything about it, Clarke turns to him, biting her lip and frowning slightly.

“Forgive me. I sometimes forget how to interact with humans. It’s like they’re asking how to boil water or what the toilet is for.”

She takes the sketch off the easel and hands to him.

“Here. Lincoln should be doing this, but he’s busy and it seemed cruel to keep you in the dark.”

It’s a quick drawing of a wolf with Octavia’s face, not particularly realistic, but still recognizable.

There are wrinkles on O’s skin, he realizes.

“She’s...”

“...old,” Clarke finishes for him. There is a small smile on her face. “Look, we can’t promise you that nothing will ever happen, all right? Of course it might, that’s life. But right now, today, she’s doing just fine. And this,” she points to the picture, “is pretty probable.”

He looks at her and suddenly everything – the smile, the possibility, her words – becomes the most amazing thing he’s ever known.

*

Bellamy stays with them for the rest of the night, waiting for his sister to come home. He doesn’t stop grinning for a single second, which is a weird look on him, but Clarke soon finds she likes it quite a lot. It makes him look years younger and not so much like an asshole.

Raven soon passes out on the couch, but Clarke stays up like a good hostess, making her guest tea. They play chess and she wins every time.

“So... Maya said you’re not human either,” he says, watching her queen kill his bishop. “She called you a dryad. Should I be made aware of any of your dryad-y habits? Like walking around naked and shit. I mean. Not that I would object.”

Clarke raises her eyebrows at him.

“Maya actually got out of the water? Wow. That almost never happens. She really must like that kid.”

“Which kid?”

“The straight single one, I hope. And I do not know anything about any unusual habits dryads have. Not wearing clothes is more of a naiad thing, and also not _that_ common. Tree nymphs don’t have the whole ‘living half of our lives in the water’ thing going on, so we just mostly spend our first twenty years or so travelling. But that’s behind me now. Had to stop when I went to college.”

“Why?” he glances at her, appearing positively startled. “What does being a dryad have to do with travelling? Shouldn’t you be, I don’t know, living in the forest or something?”

“I pretty much do, now,” she reminds him, waving at the trees outside. “But that’s kind of the thing: dryads must plant a tree they’ll be bound to for the rest of their lives by the time they’re twenty three. Once that happens, our spirits become grounded in one place. We can move, of course, sometimes many miles, but seeing the world becomes impossible. That’s why it’s so important to visit other places early: because there won’t be a time for it later. And who knows, maybe we will even find a spot for ourselves while doing so.”

“Do you have to? As in, you die otherwise?”

She sighs. This isn’t an easy subject for any dryad. She’s known too many examples of treeless nymphs.

“Not entirely. But we do wither and pass away early. My mother thought she found a solution. She’s got a bonsai and travels with it wherever she wants. Only, it backfired. The environment the tree is in is as important as the spirit’s body. You can live with a bonsai, sure. On the outside, everything is fine. But it’s just half of the life we deserve.”

Something akin to pity appears on his face at her words. She looks away, focusing on the chessboard instead.

“It’s not so bad. Once we choose a place and become a part of it, it’s like we’re sharing the minds of all the other living things around. I don’t mean reading people’s thoughts or anything, it’s rather... you’re suddenly more than just yourself. That’s how Maya and I knew Octavia was sick.”

She kills his horse with her pawn. He’s really horrible at this game.

It’s almost dawn when Lincoln appears in the doorway, throwing Bellamy wary looks, which turn out to be unnecessary, as the man ignores him, instead jumping out of the house to greet his sister. Clarke stays in the living room, picking up a blanket and throwing it on Raven.

“You okay?” she asks Lincoln, pouring him also a cup of tea and motioning for her friend to sit down. He does, with a long sigh.

“Sort of. Octavia did pretty well and all. Though she does have a broken calf, I was hoping you can do something about that, it looks pretty nasty. But other than that, it was rather standard.”

He doesn’t say anything more and she’s already learned that getting information out of Lincoln that he doesn’t want to supply is a rather impossible task. So, she goes to set O’s leg right.

“How was your first night?”

“Fantastic,” Octavia’s eyes are shining with excitement, though it is quite obvious she’s about to fall asleep again. “I feel like a motherfucking superhero. There are so many asses I can kick!”

Clarke laughs at that.

It is how it starts, the sometimes-easy-sometimes-not-so-much friendship with Octavia Blake, who is always intense, always full of life. Clarke supposes she probably needs to catch up.

Bellamy is a whole other deal. His anger died as soon as he realized O will be fine, but Clarke soon discovered the grumpiness wasn’t a part of that package and, therefore, remained.

“He thinks being an asshole is a cool kid’s default,” Octavia snickers about a week later, watching her brother pout over Lincoln’s woodcuts. “Fucking nerd.”

“I’m pretty sure it is,” decides Clarke, squinting her eyes at the paper before her. She has two projects due tomorrow and has yet to start either of them.

Raven hands Clarke a larger brush.

“Well then thank the gods that you were never cool. I’d have to turn you into a frog or some shit.”

Bellamy comes to sit next to O, still looking like he just had to clean up someone’s vomit.

“Did you not like the prints?” Octavia asks innocently.

“They were alright. Clarke, you got the book?”

“Sure.” She hands him an old volume without looking away from her project. So far, there are two smudges of blue paint on it.

She’ll never get this done on time.

“Isn’t that mine?” inquires Raven, examining the tome. “Yep, _Separating Human’s Myth from Spirit’s History,_ by Vera Kane. Why the hell are you giving him this? So he can expose us?”

Clarke rolls her eyes at her. _Honestly_.

“Bellamy isn’t exposing anybody,” she informs the witch, frowning. “Apart from the everything else, that would mean endangering Octavia, in case you haven’t noticed. Plus, if the information from our books was worth so much, they would’ve been discovered long ago. Our kind is positively awful at hiding. I figured it wouldn’t harm anyone if Bellamy used this as a resource for his next paper. With certain limitations applied, of course.”

She grants the man a gracious smile. He seems content, even grinning back, for a moment losing the grumpy demeanour.

“As if O wouldn’t kill me the second I spilled the beans.”

“Trust me, I definitely would have murdered you first,” she promises. They high five and she goes back to her project, biting her cheek to keep a straight face.

Octavia is right.

Fucking nerd.

Another full moon comes and Clarke finds Bellamy waiting for her on the porch. Not that it’s surprising – they have managed to became quite good friends in the last couple of weeks. She’s been teaching him how to properly play chess, even though it seems like he’ll never learn. This time however, there is certainly something bugging him and taking how happy he’s been lately, it is rather unsettling.

“Are you okay?” she asks and then doesn’t really need an answer, because there is a long gash on his arm that will need more stitches than she can imagine and _holy shit_.

“She didn’t know what was happening,” he murmurs. “It’s only her second full moon, Lincoln warned us that the first few times aren’t exactly controlled. It’s gonna get better.”

Clarke stares at him in silence. He’s still so new to this, of course he doesn’t realize. She takes his arm to inspect it.

“How long ago did this happen?”

Bellamy thinks for a moment.

“About... ten minutes? No more than that, definitely. We were already walking here. Seemed rude to fuck up Monty’s house, you know. Only the moon appeared earlier than we thought.”

She nods absently.

“I’m gonna get the bandages,” Clarke tells at last, getting up ant retreating to the house on shaky legs. When she comes back, he’s already unconscious and snoring in her armchair. And instead of his face, she sees Wells’.

She pulls out her phone and manages to call Raven, even though her fingers feel weak all of a sudden.

“Pick up,” she pleads, fumbling with the first aid kit. She has very little experience with treating werewolves, but she’s been sewing the injury for about two seconds now and her hands are already covered in blood. It doesn’t take a genius to classify that as bad news. “Pick up, pick up, pick up, goddammit.”

Maya appears by her side, putting a cold, soothing hand on her arm, taking the phone out of her hands.

“No,” Clarke cries out reaching for it. Her voice is not nearly as loud as she wants it to be. “No, I need that. I need Raven.”

“What you need is to get your act together,” the naiad says and she sounds clear, strong. Calming. “Clarke, I know, Raven told me about Wells, and Lexa too, but this does not have to be the same, do you hear me? His sister survived it and she was half dead at the time, remember? It’s gonna be alright.”

But Lincoln was the one who bit O, a seasoned werewolf in full control of his body. And Octavia knew what was happening, that had to help the situation. This is but a shitty accident.

She’s seen how shitty accidents go down.

Her hands still shake, but Clarke forces herself to calm down, at least on the outside, enough to get the stitches right. They still get to be a bit crooked, but that she couldn’t help.

“He’ll be fine,” Maya assures her, but it’s not enough. She doesn’t get it. Maya wasn’t there when Wells got bitten, when it was her fault, when she prayed to Geri and Freki, to the great spirits of the oceans and to Wondrous Methuselah herself only to lose her best friend anyway.

There is another hand on her shoulder, warmer and with a stronger grip, and then Raven is there to embrace her, to smooth her hair and whisper “it’s not your fault, this isn’t you,” while Clarke’s body stops shaking.

She falls asleep with her head on Raven’s lap, listening to her voice, hating herself for not being able to fall for the most amazing person she’s ever known.

The sound of familiar voices wakes her up the next morning and she shoots out of bed at once, running into the kitchen, only to find Raven and Maya sitting by the table, drinking tea. They look up, both sending her reassuring smiles.

“Here,” Reyes pours tea into Clarke’s personal mug with Maud Wagner. “Miller and Lincoln came for Bellamy a couple of hours ago. Octavia just before you woke up to fill us in. They had Nyko take a look at him, apparently, and he’s doing just fine, so stop killing yourself with worry over it and eat some goddamn eggs.”

Raven’s voice is light, sprightly, but her eyes trail over Clarke carefully as she walks over to the fridge, making her suspect she wasn’t the only one worrying tonight.

Maya gets up, kisses them on the cheeks and leaves, eager to return to the lake.

“I have a date with Jasper tonight,” she announces when already by the door. “I still can’t decide if wearing clothes for it is a good idea or not.”

With that she disappears, leaving behind the sweet smell of water lilies.

Raven coughs uncomfortably, pouring herself another cup of tea.

“I called Abby last night,” she reveals, looking properly sheepish. Clarke stares at her, disbelieving.

“What? Why the hell did you do that?”

“I was freaking out, all right?” Raven snaps. Her usually neat ponytail is dishevelled and it only now hits Clarke, just how much last night must have affected the witch. “I came home to a crying Maya and unconscious Bellamy and you, with blood all over, having some kind of a panic attack... do you realize how that looked? So yeah, I called your mother, after you went to sleep. I know you don’t like to think about her, I do. But she loves you, all right? You’re all she’s got.”

Clarke keeps silent. This has always been the one thing she and Raven could not agree on. Of course she knows it’s because Raven’s mother was far worse and Abby by comparison must seem like a saint. But the fact remains, that Clarke and Abby work best in occasional doses, no more than a couple of times a year.

She sighs.

“I’ll call her. For you. But if she comes here, I’m moving in with Lincoln.”

His house is hidden deep in the forest, where he gets most inspired to work on his woodcuts. There is no better place to hide in the area.

She calls Abby right there and then and puts her on speaker. Her mother picks up immediately.

“Clarke? Are you all right?”

She can hear a note of panic in her voice that makes Clarke’s guilt grow, but she brushes it off.

“Yes, I’m fine. Raven just overreacted, you know her.”

There is a moment of silence.

“I do know Raven,” admits Abby at last. “And she does _not_ tend to overreact.”

“Thank you,” murmurs the witch from her spot, throwing a dirty look at Clarke who shrugs helplessly.

“Mom, it wasn’t a tragedy or anything. A friend of mine was bitten and I remembered Wells. He’s recovering, though. It’s no– it’s... Raven wants to talk to you.”

She gets up, ignoring her friend’s calls, and walks out of the house, throwing herself on one of the armchairs. It still smells like rain and the woods and fur, an intense werewolf smell, but that helps little in calming her down.

It’s not nothing, Wells dying. She can’t bring herself to call it that, even after two years. Not even in a lie.

It’s not nothing.

The door opens and Raven walks out. She puts her cane away, sitting down on Clarke’s lap.

“I told her she needn’t come.”

“Thank you.”

But her friend is still looking at her, concerned.

“Clarke, I’ve never seen you in such state. Never. Sure, I wasn’t there when Lexa... when that happened, but... this was really fucking _scary_ , all right? I thought you were seriously hurt. And I still don’t know how to handle that.”

She sounds truly shaken up. Clarke weaves her fingers through Raven’s ponytail.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up like this, I don’t even understand why I did in the first place. When O happened everything was fine, but... it’s different when you know them. When they’re your friends.”

It scares her how much she likes Bellamy. This is not how dryads live. They don’t make friends with a lot of people. That way you rarely get left behind.

*

“Get up, Lupus,” someone says. Bellamy quickly comes to the conclusion that they’re the same person as the one who’s currently nudging him on the head with a stick.

He opens his eyes to see Raven, grinning, as she continues to poke his poor head with her cane.

“You do realize that that's also the name of a disease,” he grunts, not particularly enthusiastic about the idea of sitting up. “Lupus erythematosus. Ever heard of it?”

The witch smiles even wider.

“I have, as a matter of fact. You’re not the only smartass around. But it’s a beautiful day and there is breakfast on the table, so I suggest you stop moping and get your ass to the kitchen. Clarke’s been trying to pretend she’s not worried about you for over twenty four hours now, it’s exhausting the shit out of me. So stand up, put on the clothes O brought you and show her you’re fine.”

She leaves to let him dress, which – she could’ve told him he was naked a bit earlier, couldn’t she? Fucking asshole, that one. He puts on the clothes, trying not to think about everything that happened during the night.

He’s pretty sure he ate something. Something rather alive.

Octavia is probably still laughing about it. As if it wasn’t her fault.

Bellamy is wrong about O because as soon as he walks into the hall, she throws herself into his arms, hugging with enough force to squeeze the life out of a human.

He supposes there are perks of not being one.

“ _I’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorry_ ,” she mumbles into his t-shirt, staining it with tears. “Bell, I swear I didn’t want to, it was an accident, I’m so, so sorry –“

He hugs her back, laughing a little. Sure, getting turned into a werewolf wasn’t among his life goals, but as far as freaky accidents go, this one isn’t that bad.

“I’m alright,” Bellamy reassures her, kissing the top of O’s head. She sounds like a little child again. It’s not as if he can be angry at her when she’s like that.

Clarke is drawing by the kitchen table when they walk in. She looks up and gives him a reserved smile. If not for Raven’s words earlier, he would swear the dryad doesn’t give two shits about his wellbeing.

_Maybe she doesn’t_ , whispers a voice in his head. _Raven was probably just joking. Who knows how witches work. Or dryads._

But then again, Bellamy’s a werewolf, so.

He gets himself some scrambled eggs and nods at her, coughing uncomfortably.

“Hi.”

“Hello.” Her voice is cool, careless. “Did you have a good run? I know the first night is always the weirdest.”

“It was alright.”

They lapse into an awkward silence. O and Raven have disappeared somewhere. Clarke continues sketching.

It’s really warm. Or maybe the clothes are. That flannel is certainly too much in this weather. He tries to think of anything to say, but every subject seems dumb.

“I’ll go find Octavia,” he finally settles on, simply to escape the room.

Before he can move, the dryad sighs, putting the coal down. He glances up to find her looking at him.

“I’m sorry,” she says. At his questioning stare, Clarke continues. “This shit, what happened, that messed me up, okay? I mean, not that an apocalypse happened or anything, but it could’ve gone badly. And it would not have been the first time I’ve seen it do that. I told myself it would be better to have less people to care about, like a proper dryad. So, yeah, I tried. For about five seconds. But that’s bullshit. And now I don’t want to anymore.”

She takes a deep breath.

“I like spending time with you. And O. It’s nice. And I don’t know when or if you’re leaving for Florida, but I’ll try to keep being your friend. Without panic attacks this time.”

There is a weird feeling in his stomach at words ‘panic attacks’. He’s not sure what to make of it.

“Thanks,” he settles on, like an idiot. “That would be nice. I mean. Being friends with you.”

They smile at each other over their respective breakfasts.

He calls Murphy that afternoon.

“I need you to tell me I’m a fucktard who doesn’t have his shit together.”

“You’re a fucktard who doesn’t have his shit together,” says Murphy immediately. “It’s nice of you to agree, for once.”

“Go fuck a goose,” Bellamy tells him. “Also, thanks.”

He throws the phone away, not bothering to disconnect.

“I could’ve told you the same, you know,” Miller decides, as he takes the lasagne out of the oven. (Finally. A werewolf’s stomach has needs, goddammit.) Monty and Jasper are out, probably trying to persuade Clarke to use her spiritual connection with the Earth to grow weed, and O wanted to meet some Indra person who is apparently a werewolf guru, so Bellamy and Miller are having a normal people’s evening. Like actual adults, or some shit.

“I’ve been thinking it’s time for me to start paying rent,” he tells his friend. “I know you invited us here as guests and all, but we came because of O and –“

“Good. You use up more water than Niagara and I’m no billionaire. Pay up.”

They watch _3 rd Rock from the Sun_ together while Miller calls him Moon Moon.

Bellamy remembers something.

“The day we arrived here, Octavia joked about Clarke being my future wife. I mean, it was pretty stupid. Of course she isn’t my future wife. I wasn’t interested in her or anything. Not that I am now. I’m –“

“Get to the fucking point,” Miller growls. “Or I make sure you have no future at all.”

“When she made that joke, Monty acted as if he knew something. Like, as if you already found out her secret. But you didn’t.”

Miller doesn’t respond immediately, focusing instead on the empty plate on his lap.

“I don’t really know the whole story,” he admits at last. “But just before Clarke arrived, Raven told us that it’s because she had this girlfriend, Alex or whatever. The girlfriend died in a freak accident not long ago and apparently Clarke needed some peace, so if we ever trigger her in some way, Raven will cut off our balls. Of course Monty would take it seriously. He _loves_ my balls.”

Bellamy throws a napkin at him, making a face.

“I did not need to hear _that_.”

They don’t talk more, focusing on the TV instead, but he does spend the evening thinking about dying girlfriends, panic attacks and pretty girls who destroy him at chess.

(Even though he’s getting better.)

(Really, he is.)

*

She’s been living with Raven for almost four months when Kane calls.

“Anya says there’s a vampire on the loose in Ark,” he tells her. “Not one of the chill ones, more the ‘whooo, I’m gonna drink your blood and pretend my bed is a coffin’ kind. Because apparently this whole species has yet to learn how to find their chill. Fucking ridiculous.”

“I’ll have you know, I’ve dated a very chill vampire once,” Clarke informs him proudly. Nobody can talk shit about Monroe, not on her watch. Easiest break up she’s ever gone through.

“You will take care of this one, though? I know we technically picked Raven for the job, keeping peace, but when I called her she yelled Latin at me before I could even explain myself. There is no way I’m risking that again.”

“Should’ve called after hours,” Clarke explains. Her friend gets way too invested in her garage projects, it’s a wonder she even picked up the phone at all. “You’ll be fine though, don’t worry. Just... try to avoid cats for a week or so.”

She hears him sigh. Kane really likes cats.

“But you will take care of it, right? I called the sheriff of that town, he already has two people missing. We need someone competent on this.”

Competent. What a fucking joke. Clarke snickers involuntarily.

“One day, the spirit of the Earth is going to wake up and say, _hey, Kane, congrats on your shitty choices. Thanks for nothing._ ”

She hangs up and stares at the phone for a moment.

Of course she knows about the two people going missing; according to Bellamy, Miller’s been living at the police station for the last week. But vampires out of line are nowadays so uncommon, that it didn’t occur to her that that’s what it might be.

Bellamy and Monty are the only ones home when she arrives. She was hoping for someone more badass, Octavia to be exact, but a mythology nerd who misses all of his werewolf classes and a chronically stoned hacker will have to do.

“I’m assembling a Dealing With Stupid Shit Squad,” she announces, throwing them their jackets. “By the virtue of being available, you’re hired. We have a vampire to catch.”

“Of course you manage to find something important to do just as I start working on my next paper,” grumbles Bellamy, but he’s already putting on the jacket and walking towards the door. “And find the worst possible name for anything ever. Also, weren’t you guys saying that vampires are, and I quote Raven, ‘pretty neato’?”

Clarke throws him a murderous glare.

“Fuck you, on the ghost of Prometheus, for repeating that. We agreed not to. And no, there is nothing... _neato_ ,” the word stings on her tongue and honestly, she fucking _hates_ it, “about people going missing.”

She turns towards Monty to ask him to call his boyfriend, but he’s already on the phone, explaining.

“We’ll be there soon, but for now, tell him not to look them in the eyes,” she advises. “They can hypnotize that way, at least when you’re human. And he’ll need some stakes. Just in case.”

He nods, eyes wide.

In truth, Clarke has no experience in hunting vampires. Or anything else, really. This is the police’s job, the _other_ police’s to be exact, and if you told her six months ago that she’ll be representing that bunch of wankers soon, she’d laugh in your face.

But Ark is a fucking _nowhere_ , so there is no proper fae police department anywhere close. Someone around a year ago decided that Raven should be sort of entrusted with the responsibility of keeping peace, but as much as Clarke loves her friend, she can’t help but see what a giant mistake that was. Raven might be a perfect human being, but she’s also fucking crazy. There would be a grand body count if she ever decided to take the job seriously.

Clarke, on the other hand, as a serious and adult human being, begins o solve the task by stealing holy water from the nearby church, buying pizza and invading Miller’s station, to his displeasure.

“Ever heard of professional work places?” he growls, making an effort not to glance at the double cheese pizza in front of him. “It’s already a fucking challenge to appear a serious cop in front of my employees. I live with that imbécile Jasper Jordan, remember?”

Monty rolls his eyes, taking a slice of pizza for himself. “Don’t call my best friend that. And trust Clarke. She knows what she’s doing.”

That’s a serious exaggeration, but she won’t prevent Monty from convincing Miller otherwise. Especially since he is the only person capable of doing so.

Clarke glances at Bellamy, only to find him already looking at her. He points toward something on the wall.

“Miller’s been marking all the data on a board,” he murmurs as she gets closer. “The two victims, Keenan Mykulak and Vincent Vie were both seen at the Sienne’s Gallery during the last two weeks, other than that are unrelated. This is some fine detective work.”

Behind them, Miller snorts in disbelief.

“Like you would know, Blake.”

Bellamy turns to bite back, but Clarke tugs on his arm to stop him.

“Look at this,” she whispers. “Maunon exhibition is still open, as it was back then.”

He guesses immediately.

“You want to go there.”

“Of course. It’s the only thing we have.”

“It’s the only thing that _I_ have,” hisses Miller, snatching the board from them. “You two are not cops, you merdes! This is fucking classified.”

“It’s a vampire,” Clarke reminds him, amused. Nathan is hugging the board like his firstborn. “One could say it’s out of _your_ hands.”

“And cut out the French bullshit,” adds Bellamy, smirking. “Everyone knows you’re from Lexington. In fucking Kentucky.”

They more or less come to an agreement after that, though Miller grumbles that there is no way he’s joining something called ‘Dealing With Stupid Shit Squad’. Bellamy snaps at him, apparently forgetting that he criticized the name only an hour ago.

“If it’s a vampire, shouldn’t we be looking for anything underground?” Monty asks, taking a look at the maps. At Clarke’s raised eyebrows, he shrugs.

“That’s what they did in Buffy, didn’t they?”

She exchanges glances with Bellamy, only then remembering that he’s a new guy and doesn’t know this yet.

“Not necessarily. I mean, places that don’t know sunlight are generally preferred by vampires, yes, but they do not need them to survive. With certain spells applied, a vampire can spend a day in something as simple as a tent and still be perfectly fine. We can check the underground, of course, but I wouldn’t expect anything to pop out. The choices there are very limited and someone expecting to be chased after wouldn’t want to restrict themselves to them.”

Bellamy frowns at her from above his slice of pizza.

“Spells? Do you have a list of witches and warlocks in the area? Someone would have to curse them, right? Or can they do that themselves?”

She stares at him for a moment.

“I don’t, but Raven has one for sure. And they can’t. Yes, they would need help. That... I really should’ve thought of that.”

“So...” Miller pouts, reaching to get himself some pizza as if it were torture, “we search the sewers and shit and if nothing comes up, we check all the crazies? There could be hundreds of them!”

Clarke shakes her head.

“No more than a dozen, actually. Very few humans can achieve such abilities. It requires an incredible mind as well as quite a bit of luck. Most die trying to form their first spell. And do not call Raven a crazy. She’s better than you.”

Bellamy taps the gallery on the map.

“There is no need to wait. Especially if people are dying. Someone has to go to the exhibition, check the sewers and visit everyone on the list. No problem. All we need to do is recruit some more people.”

She can see it all now, forming in her head.

“Raven will supply the list and curse Miller’s cops so that they can search the sewers without getting bitten. The rest of us will split and check the list. And I’ll go to the gallery tomorrow.”

“Alone?” Bellamy asks. There is a grimace on his face that makes him look particularly grumpy.

She rolls her eyes.

“Unless someone who isn’t associated with the sheriff and/or doesn’t reek of werewolf decides to accompany me, then yes. Alone. So what? Dryads aren’t edible. Monroe always said i smelled like tree bark.”

He doesn’t say much more, but it’s the end of the meeting anyway.

So she doesn’t exactly know how to react when the next day he appears on her doorstep, even grumpier than usual, with his hair slicked back and very possibly _bathed_ in cologne.

*

Once she stops laughing, Clarke does admit it’s a nice cover.

“I mean, you smell like shit, but that does remind me of several guys I met at galleries. Just act like you think you’re the centre of the universe. Always state your opinion, claim you’re an expert on everything, that kind of shit.”

He cringes at the idea.

“Are you saying I’m supposed to be a fuckboy extraordinaire?”

She grins.

“Exactly.”

They leave in her truck, because apparently a fuckboy extraordinaire would drive a car completely different than the one he possesses (and thank the gods). Clarke is wearing her typical ‘I’m a graphic designer who spends most of her time arguing with dumb clients, don’t fuck with me’ clothes, which means her trousers have been stained a dozen times and her sleeves have coal smudges on them. It’s kind of cool.

Kind of really cool.

“You wanna hit the road later?” he asks, attempting to quit being an idiot. It does not work. “I know O and Lincoln are already checking out two warlocks in Wilmington and Raven, Monty and Miller are planning on visiting the group in Jacksonville, but there is still a couple left and it would be faster if we took care of them today.”

“Sure,” Clarke agrees, not looking away from the road. She’s such a cautious driver, it’s infuriating.

The gallery is small and full of people who are either the town’s drunks or great artists. He isn’t sure which.

There is also a bunch of teenagers trying to be artsy and shit, which explains Mykulak, who was indeed a fucking _kid_.

Bellamy reminds himself that Octavia is a goddamn werewolf now. No one’s going to harm his sister.

“Come on,” Clarke grabs his shoulder, walking towards the closest painting and pulling him with her. “It’s going to be suspicious if we appear uninterested in art. In a gallery.”

The picture is nice, but he mostly focuses on the piece of glass on the description to see what’s behind him.

“What if the witch or warlock doesn’t even know they did anything wrong? Like you said, a lot of vampires are peaceful. Maybe the person just thought that too?”

Clarke presses her lips together. Her eyes are hard.

“You can tell a peaceful vampire and a predatory one apart. It’s... they look different. Alive. Happy.”

They stare at the next couple of paintings. Clarke actually seems interested, which, figures. Maybe he’ll bring her here again, once they’re done with the vampire business.

Would be nice.

“This is pointless,” she tells him then. “Nobody’s paying any attention to us anyway. We should talk to people.”

“Ugh, no.”

“Yes. Go to the teens in black, try to find out what you can. You’re perfect for that.”

He flashes her a wide grin that he really hopes looks smug and not fucking creepy.

“Ah, Griffin, so you realized how charming I am?”

She snorts, because _of course she would_.

“Actually, what I realized is that you smell like just the right amount of pretentious asshole. And that the actual artists might hate you enough to commit murder when you try to talk to them.”

Nice. And now he’s stuck with some fucking bagets.

It’s not that he doesn’t like children, he does. He raised Octavia, after all. Even teenagers aren’t the actual worst. There was this kid in the hospital with O, Atom. Pretty cool.

Sucked when he died.

But this lot, this he doesn’t understand at all.

“This is ridiculous,” he tells them, trying to look as bored as possible. “How, do I ask, can true art be so cheerful? Where is the embodiment of death? Only a false artist would dare to portray life without interlacing it with its truest opposite. But, of course, there is no death in here because the so called artist is a fucking pansy.”

As soon as he finishes his idiotic show, the girl on the right steps forward and, faster than he can register, kicks him in the groin.

“Should’ve kept to your girlfriend,” she snarls as Bellamy doubles over. “She’d tell you not to offend my sister’s work, you jackass.”

He grows red at the word girlfriend, but the group thankfully leaves him alone after that. It’s how Clarke finds him, though, which isn’t particularly great, especially since she looks ready to burst out laughing again.

“This is your fault,” he grumbles. “I wouldn’t have been a pretentious asshole had you not told me to be one.”

“Sure,” she pats him on the head, still smirking. “Keep telling yourself that, Bell.”

Bell? Shit. He’s going to make a fool out of himself in three... two... one–

“You’re the guy who lives with the sheriff, aren’t you?”

They both look up to see one of the girls from the group watching them curiously. She nods, more to herself than them.

“Dudes like that usually come alone. Probably because nobody wants to hang out with them for longer than five minutes. And they don’t pour the _whole_ bottle of perfumes on them. More like, half or something. I’m Fox.”

“Nice to meet you,” offers Clarke, as Bellamy is not in the particularly friendly mood. “He is, in fact, the guy who lives with the sheriff. Good solve.”

Fox smiles, a slight blush spreading on her cheeks.

“I know. And I also know what you’re looking for.”

There was a man, she explains, white, rather young and almost handsome if not for the fact that something about him felt really wrong.

“He didn’t talk to Keenan at all, I don’t think” the girl says, “but he was here twice at least, that’s for sure.”

“It’s something,” Clarke admits as they are leaving the gallery. “Her words do seem to point towards our target and now we know it’s a young, attractive white man.”

“Aren’t all of them supposed to be attractive?”

She gives him a deadly glare.

“I can live with Monty referencing Buffy, you know. That’s fine. And it actually became useful, so, great. But if you come here, into my DWSS Squad, quoting Twilight and blaming it on 'having a little sister', I’m kicking you out. I do _not_ need this in my life.”

Bellamy grins, nudging her with his elbow.

“Come on, not even after you’ve smoked some of Monty’s stuff? Come on. That’s the best shit when you’re high.”

Clarke chuckles, nudging him back.

“Alright,” she agrees, still smiling. “That’s what we’re doing after this is over: you provide a hopefully pirated Twilight – because fuck, why would you be paying for this shit – and I bring in the weed. Obviously. I’m a dryad, for fuck’s sake, Monty’s stupid little plants have nothing on mine.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

He’ll wonder it it’s a date or not later.

*

They leave the second Bellamy manages to wash off the rest of the cologne. He now smells like the forest again and Clarke finds that is pleases her greatly.

Of course it does. She’s a fucking dryad, for Methuselah’s sake.

Abby calls her as they’re driving to a witch in Fayetteville, interrupting Clarke and Bellamy’s discussion on how to protect people from being hypnotized.

“Marcus just told me about the vampire issue in your area,” she reveals, sounding disturbed. “Sweetie, are you sure your involvement is necessary?

Clarke frowns, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that this can certainly be left in the hands of actual police officers, those who are trained for the job. I know Capitan Byrne is currently swamped in Richmond, but this is also her responsibility. If you give her a call, she will certainly put her cases on hold for a bit to help you out.”

“I don’t want Byrne to put her cases on hold!” Clarke blurts out, making Bellamy glance at her with concern. “Gods, ugh, why would I ever do that? That’s... that’s awful, mom! I mean, I’m pretty sure her shit is also pretty important, okay? She’s got a state and a half to take care of and you want me to impede that?”

“Of course not.” Abby sounds tired. “But there are a couple of people with her, right? Tell her to send a troll or two. Do you even have anyone to assist you? I hear Raven is too busy.”

“She isn’t. I assembled a group, we’re taking care of it. I just need to stop talking to you and everything is going to be great.”

She disconnects, ignoring Bellamy’s questioning gaze.

“That was mean,” he notes, turning left.

“I know.” It hits her only now how much. She is usually nicer, even if only a little bit. “I’m just in a bad mood, I guess.”

“You weren’t before.”

“That’s very bright of you, wolf boy,” Clarke snaps, irritated.

Then it happens.

“Pull over,” she asks, suddenly realizing how fucked up she’s feeling. He does, though not without a glare in her general direction. She definitely deserves that one.

As soon as they stop, Clarke opens the door and throws up.

“You alright there?” she hears, his voice rid of anger.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“You didn’t vomit in the car, did you?”

“No, just... you were going really fast.”

Bellamy looks around, as if to find someone to share an incredulous look with.

“So? I mean, it wasn’t that fast... and the road is mainly straight. You sure that’s it?”

How is she supposed to explain it to him?

Clarke sits up straighter, pulling out a bottle of water to rinse her mouth.

“It’s not the car thing, it’s... fuck. I did something really stupid, okay? And didn’t realize until now. Really, really stupid.”

“Are you going to tell me? Because if you want me to leave it, then that’s not what you’re hinting at.”

“I think my time is up.”

Considering how he is usually too new to understand what she’s talking about, it is almost shocking that he gets it this time.

But he does. Bellamy’s face grows pale as he stares at her with concern.

“This shouldn’t... it shouldn’t happen though, right? You’re not twenty three yet.”

She takes a deep, shaky breath. Yes, her stomach is calming down, but that is a minor detail; what catches her attention is the empty feeling spreading through her entire body. This is what all the dryads were talking about.

Her mouth tastes like ash.

“I’m a spirit, Bellamy. And I should’ve remembered that. Twenty three is a typical age, but when things happen before that, things like people you love dying, your soul might age faster. It’s not common though, so I didn’t think... _shit_.”

There are tears in her eyes and suddenly her breathing becomes ragged, sharp, her lungs without air.

Shit. Shitshitshit, crap ad bollocks.

She’s such an _idiot_.

“Hey,” Bellamy’s voice reaches her as if from afar, or through a fog. His hand is on her shoulder. She doesn’t recall that happening, but it does calm her down a bit. “We’ll figure it out, yeah? I mean it. Maybe something can still be done. We’ll have Raven look at some curses, do you hear me? It’ll be fine.”

His voice is soothing and Clarke finds herself nodding, even smiling a little bit.

It’s going to be fine.

She closes the door, wiping her face with a wet tissue.

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to go back?”

Clarke shakes her head.

“Raven isn’t at home anyway. And I could really use a distraction.”

The rest of the ride doesn’t make her feel any better; on the contrary, she starts panicking again and Bellamy pulls over two more times, visibly more and more concerned. Clarke does manage to get somewhat accustomed to the sickening feeling by the time they reach Fayetteville, though.

Diana Sydney smiles at them in a way that makes Clarke wish they didn’t come.

“Of course I help vampires out with the sunlight problems. Every proper witch and warlock dedicates their life to help those in need. How selfish would I be not to do so?” Her smile widens and Clarke wants to punch it off the woman’s face.

Raven does help people. In a different way, but she does. Nobody gets to insult her.

Bellamy sends her a warning look.

“Can you describe those people? How many of them there were and such?”

The witch stares at them, no longer as happy.

“Listen, kids. How old are you two? Barely born, it would seem, both of you. Now, I am not saying that your involvement in this tragic case isn’t appreciated, but there is only one person whose questions I will be answering and that’s Capitan Byrne. She has the power to do that, not you. Bring her in and I will tell her whatever she might ask me. But all I can do for you is bringing you coffee. Milk?”

“Sure,” Clarke tells her, beaming, as soon as she realizes Bellamy is about to answer with a (probably rude) remark.

“Come on,” she whispers when Diana leaves the room. “We have to go. Now.”

They run to the car, though still trying to be as quiet as possible.

“You know how Raven always offers everyone only tea?”

“Obviously.”

“It’s a witch custom, though not so well known. Their teas have a very faint smell. Therefore, it would be hard to hide a poisonous charm in it. She must’ve thought Raven didn’t tell me.”

Bellamy freezes, his hand already on the door handle.

“Are you serious right now? No, fuck that, you’re always serious. Holy shit.”

The ancient car makes all kinds of noises when they drive away, but it’s too late to worry about that anyway.

“What now? It’s her, right? There is no point in poisoning us otherwise.”

Clarke ponders on that for a moment.

“I wouldn’t be so sure, actually. Think about it. Byrne and her department are in Richmond. Other than that, the closest one is Captain Scott in Atlanta. Fucking Atlanta. There is no way any of them have enough time to take care of North Carolina in general. This whole state is probably some criminal heaven.”

He rolls his eyes at that.

“So, your reaction to us finding a potential suspect is ‘oh yeah, definitely guilty of something completely different from that thing that is actually happening’. Shit, Griffin, I really expected better from you.”

“I’m not saying: let’s not suspect her, just that we shouldn’t omit another person because of it. Maybe if you read some of the texts I keep hearing you get, you’d actually understand what I’m talking about.” She snaps. They’re on a road again, which reminds her what happened earlier. “Raven’s been texting me the entire time, I suspect O is guilty of that too. Listen to this, for example: _We met a witch named Nygel. Half convinced we’re gonna die, half that she’s my future wife. Awesomeness galore and definitely hiding something_. She then goes on a rant about some Delano dude. Apparently he tried to sell them stolen watches. See? This whole area is terribly neglected.”

Bellamy sighs. He looks tired, Clarke realizes, more than he’s been since O got turned.

“But we’re not looking for a watch thief.”

“I guess not.”

*

Clarke looks whiter than paper by the time they reach Raleigh, making Bellamy suspect she’s hiding a lot of what’s she’s going through.

He fucking went through this with O, okay? He doesn’t need a goddamn repeat.

They’ll look for a curse or a ritual, something, as soon as they get back. She can’t be that late. A couple of days, that’s barely anything.

The house they stop in front of looks ridiculously clean. Even Sydney’s home seemed more human, and he’s pretty sure that woman had three maids at least.

“I think we’ve managed to find the least magical place in this sad world,” he murmurs, turning the engine off. “You sure this is the right one? It looks like an American version of Privet Drive 4.”

“They often do.”

The witch they encounter here is very much like her home. There is something weirdly sterile and cold about her careful, calm poise. Her smile expresses only politeness, though, unlike the full of bullshit smirk Sydney offered, so he’s more inclined to like this one.

“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she says, immediately after opening the door. “There haven’t been any vampires here in at least four months.

“We’d still like some tea, though,” decides Clarke, ignoring the lack of invitation and walking past the woman. Bellamy has no choice but to follow. He takes the last look at the outside (just in case they die in this hygienic hell), noting the long shadows and orange sky.

“It’s almost after sunset,” he whispers to her as they walk to the kitchen. This is not something they should be doing. A couple more minutes and it’s gonna be dark enough for the shithead they’re hunting. After combining that with Clarke putting all her energy into pretending she’s fine, Bellamy has to admit their chances at achieving anything are less than swell.

“As I said, there aren’t any information of value that I hold,” reminds them Lorelei. “Unless you wish to hear about the properties of alfalfa.” She purses her lips, giving them a hostile look. "Listen, I’m sorry, but werewolves are not one of the species I get along with. The human may stay, but you boy have to go.”

The human. Bellamy feels Clarke flinch next to him.

“He’s not going anywhere,” she tells the witch.

What happens in the next couple of seconds is a fucking shitstorm.

A body falls down the stairs next to them. They have about a second to recognise it as Vincent Vie, before Lorelei manages to acquire a whip from fucking _nowhere_ and attacks him with it. He hears Clarke shout something that sounds kind of like ‘wolfsbane’, though he’s not sure, because the whip burns like a motherfucker and no matter how much he tries, he can’t move a single finger.

It stops at once and Bellamy looks up to find Clarke standing over the woman with a knife in her hand, covered in blood.

Lorelei is on the ground, not moving. He checks her pulse, but it’s obvious that the act is pointless.

“Ding dong, the witch is dead.”

Clarke recovers from shock enough to smack him on the arm.

“Can you not? I mean. Holy shit. I just... fuck.”

“What about Vie? He didn’t fall himself.”

Both of them glance at Vincent.

“It’s after sunset, he probably left the second Lorelei died.” Clarke notes. Her voice is slightly weak. Bellamy watches as she walks up to the corpse and gathers the man's hat. “Do you smell anything?”

“Is that what a vamp stench is?” he asks, grimacing. “Reeks worse than rotten eggs. I might be starting to feel sorry for the gago.”

“Gago?”

“It’s Filipino. So, are we going or not? Cause I might’ve never met a vampire, but something tells me they’re good at the desertion part. Fucking cowards.”

But Clarke is looking at him like he’s crazy.

“There is a giant burn across your entire face, Bell, do you even realize that? And I’m trying, okay, I really am, but this thing that’s happening to me, it’s not nothing. She attacked you and, fuck, I stood there like an idiot and let you get hurt. This can’t happen again.”

“You saving my life can’t happen again? Because that’s what it was. Which, by the way, thanks. It was awesome.”

She kisses him then, so there are definitely perks of meeting a homicidal witch, even if he’d kind of prefer the kissing part alone.

Of course that's when one of the burns starts hurting like a motherfucker, tearing a hiss out of him.

“Sorry,” mumbles Clarke, blushing furiously.

“Really, _really_ don’t be.”

She still calls Lincoln though, asking him to come over and use the hat to track the vampire down. While they’re waiting, they search the house, trying to find anything of value. Clarke throws all the herbs, books and other magical objects into her bag, for Raven, but other than that it’s not very fruitful.

“We’re shitty detectives,” he decides at last, throwing himself on the couch.

Clarke looks up from a giant tome about mountain trolls.

“We’ll get better.”

They will, he realizes. This thing is a mess, but so is the entire state, so they fit right in. A hundred or so cases to take care of, that should take some time.

Well, they have that.

(Lincoln and O arrive not long after that and leave two minutes later, both sniffing the hat furiously.

It looks pretty stupid.)

*

The drive home is uneventful and Clarke manages to stop feeling like shit before they reach the lake.

Raven is waiting for them on the porch, smiling wider than ever. She hugs Clarke as soon as they get out of the car.

“You beautiful little shit, how could you not tell me?”

“What?” she manages, panting because damn, the girl has a grip. “Bell and I’ve been dating for literally two hours, I don’t think that’s really –“

“You’re dating?” her friend yells, apparently only now seeing that they’re holding hands. She hugs her even tighter then. Clarke sends Bellamy a pleading glance, but he’s too busy looking smug too notice. She’d probably appreciate the cuteness aspect of it if she wasn’t being strangled to death.

(He _is_ very cute, though.)

Raven lets go of her at last, grinning.

“That’s not what I meant though,” she admits. “Sure, it’s nice and all, but I was actually talking about the settling. Of course it would’ve been nice of you to ask if I wouldn’t mind tree roots destroying my plumbing, but that’s a minor –“

She stops seeing the look on Clarke’s face.

“Did you... joder, did you plant the tree without even realizing?” she starts laughing so hard she has to sit down on the ground. “Holy Sirius, that’s genius!”

“I have a tree,” Clarke says slowly, trying to comprehend what that means.

She has a tree. It wasn’t that her time has run out a couple of hours ago, it was the fact that she got too far away from her new body.

“It’s like Diana said,” Bellamy reminds her, a pensive look on his face. He’s still holding her hand. “She called us both barely born. Must have realized.”

“I have a tree,” she repeats.

“You have a tree.”

They stand there, grinning at each other like idiots.

Then Raven motions towards the lake and she runs to see it, eager.

“I... I can’t see shit.”

The witch smirks at that, pointing at a tiny thing sticking out of the ground by the shore. There is nothing unusual about it, not to a human, but Clarke doesn’t need confirmation. It’s her.

“Congratulations, kiddo. It’s a tree.”

*

They don’t go to see the exhibition again because Bellamy is afraid of getting kicked in the balls once more. But they do watch the last Twilight movie, and then The Room for good measure, passing a joint between the two of them even after its end is full of saliva and all gross.

“This isn’t how I was planning on exchanging fluids with you,” Clarke admits, eying what’s left of the doobie.

"Wanna forget that one and make up for it?”

“Sure.”

They make out until O catches them and yells how they’re disgusting and also that he never even let her smoke a _fucking cig_ and how the fuck is that fair? She’s a vampire slayer, after all.

Apparently that means your lungs are indestructible.

“Congratulations on the girlfriend, though,” she admits after that. He can feel Clarke smile into his neck. “Which reminds me, big brother,” Octavia gives him her best wolfish grin. “You still owe me five bucks.”

*

Raven sits on the ground next to her.

“Are you still fucked up?”

Clarke grins at the sky.

(It’s going to rain.)

“Probably.”

“Any intentions on getting better?”

Clarke turns her head to glance at the still very small willow tree peeking out from the ground. She thinks of the meeting she has scheduled with her mother next week. Of Raven’s hand holding her own at the very moment.

There is also the fact, that she’ll definitely be spending tomorrow afternoon painting words ‘Dealing With Stupid Shit Squad’ on her truck, with the help of one Bellamy Blake.

She squeezes her friend’s fingers.

“Hell yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you think this looks like I couldn't pick between angst and a weird attempt at dry humor, then yes. This is exactly what happened.
> 
> Maud Wagner - the first known female tattoo artist  
> Odilon Redon - a French painter from XIX and XX century who focused on picturing states of mind  
> Methuselah & Prometheus - two of the oldest trees on Earth. Prometheus was cut down in 1964, Methuselah is still alive.  
> Geri and Freki - a couple of wolves from Norse mythology who accompanied Odin  
> Bodhi Tree - a sacred fig under which Gautama Buddha was enlightened


End file.
